#and it still ends up hurting and I'm very very very very very very very tired

[until-my-teeth-fell-out]

[Image ID: A tweet thread that says "a common ocd fear is becoming a pedophile? uh what" replied to with "Yes it's one of the most common intrusive thoughts" the first user replies with "that's psychotic i have intrusive thoughts constantly and like 5 diagnosed mental illnesses and and never are my thoughts 'fuck kids'".

Another user shares this thread and adds "'that's psychotic' well, yeah, it's a mental illness."

Another user retweets this user and says "funny how people have very little sympathy for ocd, bpd, schizophrenia etc. when they're exposed to symptoms that they can't romanticize. There's nothing fun, pretty, or enjoyable about mental illness. We're not exactly having a good time." /End ID]

Maybe this is friendly fire but the "I have mental illness but I'm not like THAT" folks... I think they're really just "does not have this disorder but assumes they do because they're upset sometimes OR has something like low support needs autism or ADHD or mild depression and anxiety which still do have stigma around them but aren't exactly known as the 'wah scary murderer' disorder so they've never had to experience this for one day in their lives but pretend they could just to insert themselves in other disorder spaces and then push the people actually belonging to that space out"... if you know what I mean.

Also that person calling this "psychotic" PISSES ME OFF. That's not what that means. That's not what ANY of that means!

Not to mention, intrusive thoughts can't win! At least 90% of the time. Saying things like that can make OCD worse for people but really, you're not going to go out and become a murderer! You're not going to wake up one day and hurt your loved ones!

[sillyuin]

hi <3! was wondering if i can get svt reaction to yn being completely oblivious to them flirting with her? subtle things like while she’s just ranting about her day they’d move closer to her and she’d absentmindedly put her hand on their chest to push them away still running her mouth, just completely unaware of what’s happening. and even the most obvious things like compliments or physical touch, yn is blind to it and it’s so frustrating to them

so yeah, hope you see this! ❤️

Hi! I'm sorry for being so late 😭 i've been very busy with job and housework, but it's finally here.

Svt reacts: Flirting vs clueless s/o. Who will win?

Yuin's note: barely proofread. I'ts 1 am and I'm tired.

Seungcheol. Staring at your face.

I mean, he likes to just stare at you as if he's watching the prettiest person in the world, but when Seungcheol wants to be especially flirty, he stares at you fondly and smiling with the whole intention to make your heart skip a beat, he even glances at your lips, as if he were trying to say something. Most of the time that's enough to make you really, really shy but when is not... Geez, he has to breathe in and ends up pouting a little (Probably one or two pecks will make him feel better).

Jeonghan. Teasing.

Is like his default love language, making harmless jokes to see you flustered all over him is just so fun to watch. But, is he really just trying to be a teaser, or is there something else behind? "I took the chair, but you can sit on my lap" he said one day, sitting at your desktop, with the most mischievous smile possible. But you didn't fall for his charm and as you kept your annoyed face, he stood up and sighed "Okay, all yours". And you better be ready because he's not forgetting so easy, and will keep teasing you just a little (yeah, a little) more than usual.

Joshua. Back hugging.

When Joshua wants your attention only and only for him, he goes where you are to hug you from the back, resting his chin on your shoulders and crossing his arms around your waist. Oh, he loves it so much is so tender, but he gets lowkey hurt when you don't react in any way because, how come you don't realize his intentions? Is really doing the dishes way more important than his warm hugs? Now, this is personal and Joshua won’t let you go, take it as a punishment for being so clueless (reward or punishment?).

Jun. Tickles.

For him, tickles is the perfect excuse to be closer to you. It's so obvious that hurts lol. Most of the time you melt in his touch, and you both end up laughing and sharing some kisses, but sometimes you're minding your business, too busy to realize that Jun wants to get your attention. Better get ready because you'll have a pouty little cat going around the apartment, and will NOT forget your offense unless you give him extra cuddles before bed.

Hoshi. Random "facts".

At the least appropriate time, he would come to find you. "Did you know that there is a minimum number of kisses that a person should receive per day to be healthy?" he says with a very serious expression on his face. And there you are, standing in the middle of the living room while you're brushing your teeth; your soulless expression says all. Hoshi turns around and pretends nothing happened, but in his mind, he's sitting in the corner staring at the walls.

Wonwoo. Making compliments out of nowhere.

He likes to pour you with sweet words, like how much he appreciates your homemade food, or that you did it great at work. From time to time, he thinks is fun to be a little sassy and his praises are very, very intentional. “New gloss?” he says, grinning at you “It looks good” and for some frigging reason you just start talking about how you got it? Babe, Wonu doesn’t care that much that you bought it because your favorite gloss wasn’t on stock, but now he feels a little shy to speak and just lets you tell the whole story.

Woozi. Playing with your hair.

When it comes to be openly flirty, Woozi tends to be a little coy. You rarely notice it since it's very common for him to be around you, caressing your hair and playing with the strands in complete silence. So when you get distracted he places a strand behind your ear, exposing your neck. But when he's so close to place a kiss, you jump like a scared kitten. "No! It tickles!" Woozi looks down, defeated, as you move away. "Sorry, be right back" and he locks himself in his room for the next hour.

Minghao. Holding your hand.

He thinks your hands are more than just pretty. Hao likes to take one of them when you're sitting by his side, scrolling on your phone or watching TV. He's so subtle that most of the times you don't feel how he traces your hand with his fingers and when you realize, it’s because your hands are intertwined and he’s holding his laughter. “How low you’ve been like this?” but Minghao just giggles. You end up doing the same and then resume your activity, letting him laughing low in embarrassment and biting his lips as a sign of frustration.

Mingyu. Resting on your lap.

He's very straightforward when it comes to flirting with you. Mingyu likes to wait patiently for you to sit on the couch or the bed and then he goes, at first making some (pretty obvious) questions "What are you doing?" "Is that a new book?" and as you're talking, his hands rest on your thigh, gently stroking your skin with his thumb, but you're so immerse in the topic and he goes completely unnoticed... And before you even notice, there's a flustered Mingyu resting his head on your lap, tracing small circles on your thigh as if he had been punished.

Dokyeom. Taking photos.

He already has a folder with your name and an unhealthy number of photos; Seokmin just never gets tired, you're so used to it that most of the time don't realize that he's actually trying to hit on you. "Just let me take a picture, you look so beautiful today!" And after giving him an awkward smile, you're getting back to your stuff.  Seokmin is a bit disappointed but with a bunch of new photos of his precious person, so is not that bad (at least is what he says to himself trying to not lose his mind).

Seungkwan. Scolding.

I know, it may sound like a bit harsh but when he's scolding you, Seungkwan tries to make it as tender as possible, it doesn't feel like scolding and actually, he uses this as a cheap excuse to be extra lovely. "Don't sleep too late, you're getting dark circles" he says in a soft voice while caressing your checks "you're too pretty for that, don't you think?". He waits for you to take the bait and when you laugh on him, saying that he's being a little dramatic, Seungkwan doesn't hide his disappointment. "Okay, keep watching your series" he says getting up from the couch "but don't you dare to complain later!"

Vernon. Placing his arm on your shoulders.

A classic that never dies and his favorite, Vernon likes to do it all the time: when watching movies, chatting, watching videos together; is a like a very subtle invitation to get closer to him, and somehow, most of the time you’re just minding your business and leave him waiting for you to notice. And yeah, he’s very patient, but everything has a limit. "Come here, babe" then he places his hand on your shoulder and brings you closer to his chest. And don't you dare to move, because there's no way he let you go now.

Dino. Calling your name.

Usually, he calls you by pet names or your name in diminutive, reserving the use of your name for special occasions. However, it doesn't always end the way he expected. “Did I do something wrong?” you ask him just after he called you by your name, and when Chan sees your big doe eyes, his smile fades. “Is just that… I feel like you’re mad at me”. At this point his intentions doesn’t matter anymore, he just hugs you and tries not cry in his disappointment.

[the-kr8tor]

For you Ekko reqs, may I suggest R and Ekko hurt/comfort where Ekko slowly confides with R about what happened at the end of show (like probably a year or 2 of Ekko trying to process everything) and how he sometimes wished he stayed at the alt timeline? 🥲 Just him processing his grief of everything while R comforts him. Mans deserves better

-😅

Ahhhhh writing this made me tear up ngl 🥲 I hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, can be read as platonic, cw violence mention, cw injury mention, cw blood and death mention, hurt/comfort.

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ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Ekko?” Your call is carried by the cool autumn wind, breeze fluttering your lashes as you stare at his back. You see him shrink in his seat, face hidden on the crook of his elbow. Walking closer, footsteps clanging against the metal balcony where you always find him on the same day it all happened. “You'll catch a cold up here.”

Piltover shines in front of you, warm light flickering off by the windows as people settle in for the night. But the glimmering fire paper still flies above the city, its light fading as it burns out in the breeze. It's the anniversary of that day, the day Piltover and Zaun saw war right on their doorstep.

Your arm aches, a phantom pain ebbing in and out when your mind goes back to that exact day where the sky was covered in searing smoke, and the streets splashed in warm crimson. Thumb brushing along your scar, it's a mark, a reminder of what was lost that day.

After a minute, Ekko sighs, still unmoving on his spot. “I'm not leaving.”

“I'm not trying to make you leave.” You fetch the blanket that was folded and draped over your shoulder. “I have a blanket for you. If you want it.”

He turns his head slowly over to you, mind playing tricks on him as he sees the flash of you bleeding and yelling for him. Eyes bloodshot, skin clammy and marred with blood. As fast as it came, he blinked and it's gone. Vision returning to the present, the present that wouldn't be possible if not for his sacrifice.

“Don't just gawk at me, bossman,” you smile gently at him, the blanket now unfurled in front of you, ready to drape it over his trembling form. “Do you want it or not?”

The corner of his lip curls up in a small smile, his eyes are tired, weighed down by the world. “Come sit down?”

He has never asked you to join him. You always left him alone up here whenever the anniversary comes around, thinking that's what he needed. But you always waited patiently just outside the door, sitting down on the cold steps while you let grief wash over you like the tides. Until it's time to pick yourself up again at the sound of the door opening. His hand helping you up wordlessly, grief holding the two of you in place, mourning together silently. When morning comes, everything seems to go back in place. The sun still shines, the world still breathes. But it lingers, that grief that has etched itself in your bones, sorrow that lives in his chest, weighing him down but never letting it fester and spread.

You two continue to fight, to improve the very place where blood has been spilled. Carry their memories, their names and their voices until the end. Lest their sacrifices would be in vain. Ekko's sacrifice would be in vain. He deserves better, to not bear the heaviness left in his soul.

“Are you just gonna gawk there or will you take a seat?” He uses your own words against you.

“Can't help it,” you say, heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat right next to him. Giving him enough space, but close enough to see his heavy eyes marred by unshed tears. “You look good under the moonlight.” You joke in an attempt to make him smile.

Ekko manages to chuckle softly, letting you drape the fluffy blanket around his shoulders. Your warm fingers grazing along his cool skin, sending goosebumps on his lean arms.

“Do you find my frown charming?”

You smile kindly, knuckles brushing down his goosebumps. “It’s the tear stained cheeks that gets me everytime.”

He scoffs with a small smile, attention turned towards the Piltover sky. The smell of burnt paper and violets linger in the air, frown deepening at his racing thoughts.

“Will you stay?”

With trepidation, you take his hand in yours, giving him enough time to pull away. He doesn't, instead, he weaves his fingers around yours. His grip is weak, but you can feel how much he needed it by how his eyes stare at your joined hands.

“Of course, whatever you need, Ekko.” You'll stay forever if he asks.

He nods, eyes staying downturned. “I wanted to stay at that place.” Letting out a shaky breath, he closes his eyes, trying to remember what they look like in his mind's eye. Faces that he once thought that he'll never see again. Faces that he had to say goodbye to. “But that would be selfish. I couldn't—” you squeeze his hand. “—I couldn't just leave this place and let it burn.”

The last two years have melded together in your head. All those months of waiting for him at the edge of the hideout, never losing hope, not even when they declared him dead. And then the war came, and you two didn't have the time to reunite, until it ended with you laying half dead on the streets of Piltover. Waking up to him holding your hand in a grip, wishing for you to open your eyes. And you did. A year later, he comes to you, angry and furious, wanting to let it all out. You still remember the day he told you exactly what happened when he disappeared for months like it was yesterday.

He recalls it all like it was a dream, a dream that was destined to be forgotten once he awakes. He didn't want to wake up, not when everything he always dreamed of was there. He gripped onto you tightly that day, held onto you until the sun rose. Nothing was left unsaid, his story left a hole in your heart, wishing that you've seen it for yourself. But you're afraid that you wouldn't be strong enough to leave, as strong as him who made a difficult choice to leave.

He has experienced unthinkable loss, a longing you've never felt. You don't have the exact words to comfort him, to soothe his want, so you move closer to him, fixing where the blanket has fallen and wrapping it over his body like a warm cocoon. You could only hope that it's enough, but you know it will never be enough.

Ekko tucks his head on your shoulder, hand finding its way over to your raised scar. His thumb traces along the skin, feeling your warmth and in turn comforting you. He knows the pain you're in too, he witnessed it, all the nights you've hid away only to come back with red eyes and grief etched on your face.

“I couldn't leave you and Zaun behind.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

Your heart wretches out of your chest. “It wouldn't be selfish.” You say, whispering it into the air around you. “I think— I would've done what you wanted to do. I wouldn't be strong enough to leave, but you did.” He leans away, eyes soft and shining under the moonlight as he meets with your eyes. “You're brave, Ekko. You might not want everyone to know what you had to do to save everyone, but I know. And I'm forever grateful for what you did. For what you have sacrificed so we could live. I'll remember it until I can't, even then, I'll try not to forget.” Cupping his jaw, you watch as a tear slides down. You wipe it away gingerly, smiling at him as he leans against your warmth, eyes closing, shoulders slumping with every word you utter. “You did well, Ekko.”

He moves forward, leaning his forehead against your own, affection radiating off him. “Thank you.”

“We'll be okay. We have time.”

“I know.” He has seen it, one day that dream will come true.

With a tender squeeze, his hand takes the other edge of the blanket, pulling and covering you with its warmth right next to him.

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[askshivanulegacy]

[ARCANE SPOILERS]

I'm waffling with whether I agree with this overall post. 😂

Headcanons are fine. They don't "damage" anything, not even when it's a stereotype. They don't erase anything. They're headcanons and cannot hurt anyone - not even if someone changes them in response to events in the show. After all, people change their orientations in real life. Yes, it might point toward a bias that it's probably good to examine. But it's entirely possible that original Jinx is aro and AU Jinx is not. Sexuality is not a necessary constant across universes or even a necessary marker of core character identity (which is not something we can measure so who the heck knows). We don't know that that interpretation isn't the correct canon. Also, maybe she's 100% straight the entire time! Or maybe she's lesbian and the other guy is trans and never said (like elsewhere in the show). No proof either way, Jinx is just so busy terrorizing people. 😂

As for Viktor: we have no actual proof he's NOT aro, either. Even up to the very end of the show, you can read this relationship as platonic. You can read it as romantic. You can read it as aro. You can read it as sexual. You can read it as asexual. The verdict is ENTIRELY in the viewer's hands. It's my decision as much as yours. There isn't enough canon evidence to confirm one way or the other. No, not even if it's "important" to be queer. If that relationship is platonic to someone, then it's platonic, and that's what's more important. If someone's viewing experience is so far in one direction that they didn't consider anything else, all it means is that, wow, they were super invested. Good for them! It doesn't "say a lot about someone." It says nothing.

There's supposedly a trans character in the show, but we're given no canon evidence for that. Most people will never know it. With no canon evidence, you get to have whatever interpretation you want and it's just as "real" and "important" and "powerful" as any other interpretation. That's the beauty of an ambiguous storyline, and also the frustration (depending on your personal point of view).

At the same time, definitely, people need to know when their interpretation is just a headcanon versus confirmed canon. Too many people act like headcanons are canon, or they act like an obvious interpretation is "weird" when really it's their own behavior that's weird. You can "deny" an interpretation in that you simply do not choose to view something that way, but you still have to acknowledge that other interpretations are possible. You also can't ignore the reality of canon.

Clearly these above posts are all for a very specific interpretation, which is super important to them. And that's fine. It's still just one headcanon, it's not a default, and importance is only in the eye of the beholder. Any other headcanon is just as valid and important.

And nothing is canon unless it's explicitly shown.

Or vice versa, everything is canon until proven otherwise. :)

Hot take and not to be a killjoy or the shipping police but people treating Viktor or Jinx's aroace headcanons as if they were canon is not the revolutionary take people think it is.

Headcanons are always all right but we have to acknowledge that they are somehow damaging when they apply to stereotypes. It might not be the case for everyone but most of the time people unconsciously assume that disability/mental illness=asexuality. These headcanons erase the freedom of attraction from people who are already seen as unable to have sexual/romantic experiences/desires, when it's completely untrue and harmful.

You can headcanon Viktor and Jinx as aroace, but I have seen people changing their minds once Viktor is no longer disabled (s2 with all of his other forms) and Jinx is no longer as mentally ill (alternate universe Powder). And it speaks wonders of how people see these characters.

"I never thought about Jinx being able to feel romantic/sexual attraction until s2!" To believe she's actually only capable of that when she's not "damaged" is incredibly disturbing. Especially since Jinx has always had a bit of a flirty personality too.

"I've always seen Viktor as asexual, I don't know why!" That's fine. You can headcanon him as ace. But I believe there is a reason behind it, most of the time, if for some inexplicable reason the "vibes" of the disabled character are making you think he's ace.

I say all of this being aroaspec myself, by the way. Headcanon all you want but going to people's posts commenting how "it's weird for you that they have romantic/sexual plots when they're clearly aroace" is not a win at all. It's a headcanon, after all, and it should be treated as such, and that's fine. But it also is damaging to spread stereotypes like these.

Of course the disabled character is asexual. Of course the mentally ill character is aromantic. It's not as revolutionary as you might think, tbh.

Fandom is not activism and it's all right to have any headcanons you want BUT some of them are filled with damaging stuff and perhaps we should look into ourselves more before treating these assumptions as something canon.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[phyrestartr]

Deal With It | Gojo Satoru x M!Reader (TEASER)

CW: Arranged marriage, SELF-HARM (on and off-screen), hurt/comfort, angst, drama, self-loathing, blood and gore, implied depression, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation #NSFW, probably top Gojo, probably bottom reader, maybe switch idk, idek if they'll bang it out tbh lol, angst with a happy ending, reader is a sorcerer, time skips, time progression, relationship development, student era into teacher era Note: I got this request to make a story revolving around Gojo and an arranged marriage to the reader (but bro is in love with Getou sob.gif), and I've been RUMINATING on it for forever. I think I finally have a good idea of who the reader is/what their chemistry is like with Gojo, so I'm happy to post a wee bit of a teaser to motivate myself! Let me know your thoughts---I'm finding that I absolutely love writing for Gojo, so I'm down to write more LOL. He's a very fun, complex character.

Deal With It

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold stone of the college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.” 

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day. 

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but. 

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.” 

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.” 

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it.” 

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?” 

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.” 

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.” 

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice. 

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found translucent red coating the tips. 

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.” 

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him. Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day.

--

Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

[mourningsbane]

Just to review lore and make sure I've got it. Honey and Flail were mates. Honey ended up pregnant but never named the doner. She got hurt and Tangle used a poisonous plant by mistake trying to heal her. She died and they did a c section to try and save the kits. The kits all had deformities and died within hours. Tangle has been desperately covering his mistake, while Honey's spirit woke up and started haunting the Clan, tainting the prey by making it grow her fur. Rootstar is hiding this to avoid scaring the Clan. Palekit is now awake and attacked Palepaw. phew, that's everything right?

Consider me impressed, you got it all!! <3

I was worried that my short comics and pictures were maybe a little too vague to get a proper story across (since it's not formatted in a traditional comic style), but I'm glad the story's relatively clear so far! I'd hate for things to get too convoluted or confusing. Do let me know if it ever reaches that point!

There are some odd lore tidbits scattered here and there, but they haven't become especially lore-relevant at the moment (and I really only brought them up once or twice), so I don't really expect people to know them! Still, I am very impressed regardless! :D

[djarinova]

In shades of grey in candlelight / I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

Spencer Reid x gn!reader content - reader is in an unfulfilling long term relationship, thoughts of cheating, best friend!Reid, friends to lovers, slight angst from reader longing to be loved properly again, cheating is slightly romanticised, confessions, teeny amount of angst words - 3k (how did this even happen omg) reputation event masterlist

♡—How long should you hold on to something after it's proven time and time again to be the source of your pain? And why does missing your best friend hurt so much more than missing your boyfriend?

It had been almost 4 weeks since you'd last spoken to Spencer—a mix of his work, the weekend he spent visiting his mother and the looming sense of… something… that had been hanging over your head like a dark cloud had kept the two of you apart for longer than usual.

Spencer would have been able to identify the issue that had been plaguing you, he's always been good at that—even before he'd joined the BAU.

He had been able to figure out that you'd failed a maths test when you were 12 years old. He had been able to tell when your parents had had a fight when you were 15 years old. He had been able to correctly work out that you'd ordered yourself the wrong flavour of milkshake—over the phone, without seeing your face—when you were 18 years old. And as you got older, your problems getting more and more adult, he had been able to figure out through missed calls and unanswered texts that you'd had your heart broken again. And again. And again.

That's what he would have said was the cause of your behaviour over the past few weeks—you've changed your hair, thrown out a bunch of old clothes, rearranged and then rearranged again almost all the rooms in your flat and you've been out drinking with your friends twice already this week (not that this is a particularly bad thing, or even entirely unlike you, but you mentioned to Spencer once that going to a bar or pub for a drink was only really fun when you were with him, and it had lit a spark deep within him that he refused to acknowledge). But this time you know he'd have gotten it wrong. You haven't broken up with anyone, you're still very much coupled up and there's no sign of your boyfriend wanting to dump you at all.

That's the problem.

You roll your eyes, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. I'm the only one that can fix it.

You scoff. The faint smell of your neighbours baking wafts over you, and you can hear him and his boyfriend giggling through your shared wall. A lump in your throat begins to form, and the familiar sting behind your eyes returns as you busy your hands with tidying away the washing up (that you had accidentally washed three times now.) The tears that fall feel like they're burning your skin as they run down your cheeks, as though the droplets are going to leave small scalding streaks from your eyes to your chin.

A new wave of bitterness envelopes you and a strangled yell escapes your lips before you have the chance to think. You hear your neighbour's pause, likely raising their eyebrows at each other as if to say what the hell is wrong with next door before quickly returning to being the lovey-dovey super cutesy couple that they are. And they are. Super cutesy. You've seen them around the building before, even one time accidentally ending up in the same café after a building wide fire alarm went off. They invited you to sit with them—your boyfriend was with his mates—as they didn't want you left on your own so late at night. It was nice, awkward, sure, but nice. Conversation was easy, they seemed to bounce off of eachother in ways that you and your boyfriend never have—at least not for many years now. Their laughter was contagious and yet as you said your goodbyes and slunk back to your lonely apartment you couldn't help the twinges of envy that plagued the back of your mind.

He doesn't look at me like that. He is never that enthusiastic about dating me. He would never gush about our first date like that. (And deep down you know he could say the same things about you.)

So, yeah. That wasn't very fun to sit with.

You somehow feel happy knowing that Spencer would incorrectly guess the reason for your ongoing sadness. For some reason the thought of being unknowable to him has you frenzied… A strangled noise escapes your throat—a laugh! Christ. It was a laugh, despite how bitter and angry it sounded.

Maybe frenzied isn't the right word… But god! You don't know! At least he would actually care. At least he would want to try and get to the bottom of your feelings, to try and understand why you've been jumpy and on edge and almost hyperactive in the way you've been non stop moving recently.

Tap tap tap.

The noise makes you jump out of your skin, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes dart to the clock. It blinks back at you.

20:37

You chastise yourself, it's probably next door coming to ask if you could keep your yells of frustration down while they're having a relaxing evening. Embarrassment floods over your face and you can feel the tears threaten to fall again at the thought of being confronted about your outburst. You can imagine the look of pity on their faces—although a hidden part of you hopes that they're coming to invite you over, to welcome you into their warm home, to smell their freshly baked bread and taste the chocolate chip cookies.

Your feet pad heavily against the wooden floor as you walk out of the kitchen towards the front door—tap tap tap. A further set of knocks has you almost tripping over your feet as you rush the final few paces. You swing the door open without a thought, not wanting the neighbours to have to knock again.

You spare no thought to the tear stains that have marked your face…

“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be—Spencer? Wha–what are you doing here?” You splutter.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Have you been crying?”

“I—well, yes I have but it's fine—I didn't expect to see you, you've been so busy lately.” You take a deep breath, for a brief second—and it was brief—you had been relieved to find that it was only Spencer behind the door, but it didn't take long for the embarrassment to claw its way back up your spine and sink its teeth into your flesh once more.

His eyes bore into you as if he's trying to look inside you. He scans your face, your movements, he watches your hands fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt—before you notice him noticing you and you flatten your palms against your sides in an awkward, unnatural manner.

“May I come in?” He asks, his voice is gentle and it's almost enough to make you fall to the floor in despair.

A hum is all you can manage in response. You quickly side step out of his way, locking the door behind him as he removes his jacket and scarf and hangs then neatly on the third hook from the left—the one that's always left bare, just for him.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Spence?”

He pauses mid stride—he’s already halfway to the kitchen and if you had known he was coming over then there would a cup of coffee on the side waiting for him, in his favourite burgundy mug, the one with a chip on the lip—and tilts his head at you as if to say isn't it obvious.

“I'm here to see you.” He states, incredibly matter of factly, as if the mere question coming from your lips is completely ridiculous. Why else would he be here?

“I—” You start, but Spencer disappears around the corner before you are able to get any more words out. You huff, feeling slightly unnerved by his sudden arrival and subsequent behaviour since setting foot on your doorstep. There is nothing else in the world that can make you as happy as he can. Something which both terrifies you, and excites you a great deal.

You step foot into the kitchen and you are unsurprised to find Spencer already in the process of making himself a coffee. He pauses once more when he catches sight of you and he holds a second mug out towards you in question. You shake your head. You don't think you'd be able to stomach anything until you can get him to speak to you properly.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and it may be the first time you ever fully allow yourself to truly think it. Because although it's not unusual for Spencer to visit you in the evening, sometimes even coming over as late as 1 or 2 in the morning—he gets back from cases at the most unpredictable times—do people think you're seeing each other? The two of you have been friends for years, it's not weird for a friend to come over at all hours of the day… right?

“Spence, are you alright?” You pause, eyeing his very full cup of caffeine. “Haven't you just got back from a case? I can make up the sofa bed if you want to get some sleep.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Why do I feel so weird about asking him to stay over? We're friends. It's what friends do.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He ignores your questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed at him. Not when his knuckles are white from how hard he grips the cup and his eyes flit from your hands to your eyes to your mouth and back to your hands.

Wait—your mouth?!

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He repeats. He closes the gap between the two of you with only a couple of steps. His steaming coffee is still clutched in his hands, but his fingertips seem restless, as if he knows where he wants them to be, but he just can't—or won't—move them there.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Your mouth feels dry—maybe turning down Spencer’s offer for a coffee was a mistake… He's barely an arms length away from you now, if you were to reach your hand out towards him it would brush up against the navy cardigan he has on. It looks so soft and you can't help but wonder how it would feel around your shoulders. Would it be baggy? Would it fit perfectly? And would Spencer want to come back from a case to find you curled up on the sofa while wearing it?

Your neighbour’s laughter ripples through the air like thunder. It's gone before you have time to register the noise fully, but it's enough to snap you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from Spencer's torso. It was as though he was waiting for you to make eye contact with him again, because he immediately puts his cup down on the side—more clumsily than usual, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an extra chip on the lip now—and takes the smallest of steps towards you. You are almost toe to toe now.

“I–uh–meant to ask you earlier… about your boyfriend.” He hesitates. “Presumably he's not around…”

There's two ways you could take his question.

Part of you wants to lie, to say that no, he's not around, you dumped him months ago—when your friends first told you that you should—and that you weren't expecting any company tonight. It would be just you and Spencer, no interruptions. Besides, Spencer knows that your boyfriend doesn't live with you, it's been the topic of many a heated discussion, but… could you just pretend you misunderstood? Could you say that no, he's not around, he's probably out with his friends somewhere. Could you admit that he hasn't texted you back in almost 4 days? Could you say he's not around, in fact, he hasn't been around you for 12 days?

But Spencer doesn't give you any time to think through what to say. You gasp when his hand touches your arm and he laces his fingers through yours without so much as a word, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if he had done it a thousand times. The certainty with which he touched you has your heart pounding. What is he thinking? All you can do is blink up at him. His eyes are swimming with questions, but the only one he voices is, “Is this okay?”

Your head moves before you can think and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. You haven't felt as calm as this in months, and yet somehow it feels like you're suffocating. His touch is warm and the dusting of pink on his cheeks has you feeling a rush of anxiety—but the good kind, the kind of anxiety you get when your crush looks at you, the kind that comes hand in hand with a first kiss… And yet you know you need to pull away. Before something more happens.

You force yourself to pull your hand out of Spencer's and the emptiness returns immediately. You stumble away, bumping into the counter as you do so, and you utter a small yelp when your hip hits the corner. Tears sting your eyes and before you know it Spencer has his arms around you. Somehow knowing what you need before you are even able to think it. You choke out a broken apology—for what, you don't even know—and all Spencer can think to do is squeeze you against his chest, whispering soft comforts into your ear.

You stay like that for a while—long enough that the pain at your hip is now only a dull ache. Your throat is dry from all the heavy breathing and you feel a slight throbbing pain in your head, but you do, somehow, feel a little better.

That is until your emotionally fried brain catches up with itself. And then you cringe, hard. Embarrassment floods your veins and you feel your cheeks heat up by an alarming degree—like someone, somehow, is holding the sun directly against your skin. You are acutely aware of how closely Spencer is watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, unsure of whether there's a look of hurt, confusion or pity on his face—unsure of whether it matters—and all you can do is stare through your blurry eyes at what you think is your feet, but what could just as easily be a pair of furry, blue alien slippers.

You scold yourself. You fell apart all because he... held your hand? God. What a mess he must think you are. And—oh! How he probably thinks you are the worst person in the world for even entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you when you aren't even single. If he even thinks that what you did was entertaining the possibility. Or maybe you completely misread the situation and he was only trying to comfort you as a friend... But what if he thinks you have no interest in him? What if he thinks he's ruined your friendship and your relationship? What if you're reading into things far too much and he doesn't like you like that and he thinks you're a bad person for even thinking about kissing him–not that he would know that, he can't read your mind–and you've certainly never thought about kissing him before and especially not right now–he doesn't know how much you long for him to sweep your off your feet—

"I like you Spencer."

You blink. Slowly you bring your head up and meet his gaze. He takes a shallow breath, as if he had been holding it for quite some time.

Christ.

You only meant to think the words, and yet somehow they slipped past your tongue out into the space between the two of you. An accidental confession of something you hadn't even consciously thought until 0.2 seconds ago.

Well I can't take it back now.

He holds your gaze. His vision blurs ever so slightly and he blinks back his unshed tears before they get the chance to overwhelm him. He clears his throat before speaking, but even then his voice is low, quiet, as if trying not to spook an animal.

"You... do?"

You nod, and he takes another obvious sigh of relief, deeper this time.

"I do. I like you a lot actually."

It's as though hearing you voice your feelings for him has broken down the very last wall between the two of you. Your mind flits briefly to thoughts about your boyfriend, before shutting them down so violently that you almost feel sick. You taste metal in your mouth and you realise with a start that you'd bitten down so hard on your lip that you'd drawn blood. You reach for the closest available source to wash the bitter taste away—Spencer's coffee. And he watches as you take a sip, your eyes are closed but somehow he can sense that they are closer to shedding tears than his are. He reaches an arm towards you and gently begins to rub soothing circles on your waist. The touch sends an electric pulse throughout your entire body and you almost drop the mug in shock. It's like all at once you realise just how stupid you were for allowing yourself to be so miserable for all this time. Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who barely touches you when one touch from Spencer has your insides burning? Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who doesn't care about your feelings unless they are positively affecting him, when the first thing Spencer asked you tonight was if you had been crying?

For right now all you care about is the way Spencer's eyes glisten when they look at you, how warm his hands are when they touch your face and how the quiet laughter from your neighbours no longer makes you feel as lonely as it did before.

You felt like such a fool. But it seemed like realising this fact was enough to set you free. It seemed like the acknowledgement was enough. You didn't give any thought now to the things you would have to do this coming week—the breaking up, the collection of your things from his place (although at this point there is only a toothbrush and a single pair of joggers that haven't moved from their place on the back of his sofa since you washed them and left them there). Hell, even the possibility of having Spencer there with you hadn't crossed your mind.

[leannswritings]

Our Designer - Part 1

Summary - Crushing on your friend and co-worker is one thing...having wet dreams is another, now it's time to decide if you should confess or let it go.

Warnings ! - slight smut, straight yapping

Word count - 1.2k

A/N: hey....hey...pretend I didn't disappear for a year. I was another victim of the fanfic writer lore, I sadly disappeared due to health...lol. BUT I'M BACK. I'm currently obsessed with Arcane and Viktor. This chapter is just straight yapping tbh...but trust there will eventually be smut. I apologize if this isn't good I haven't wrote in a long time so...warnings. ANYWAYS ENJOY ♡

A once quiet and cold room, usually being filled with sounds of chalk against the board or short conversations every blue moon was now a room being filled with lewd and unrecognized noises.

You found yourself bent over a paper covered desk, you face pressed against those papers. You couldn't help but think about what would happen if someone walked into you bent over a table,with your friend—let alone a co-worker behind you.

"Vik-viktor.." You gasped out before your words went back to being untranslatable.

There was no reply, instead the grip on your wrist that was behind you tightened. The pleasure continued for minutes on end, until you started to hear talking and foot-steps. You didn't know how to react to the fact you could get caught in this compromised position, or you didn't know if you would even react seeing how you didn't even try to move a muscle.

The door finally opened, filling the room with a bright light.

——————

You jumped up in a sweat, looking around just to realize you were in the lab, your face was on the desk, and someone was walking into the lab. You turned around to see Jayce and Viktor walking in, still dumbfounded and in a daze.

"Good morning, did you pick up Viktor's habit of spending the night at the lab?"

Jayce said jokingly as he walked towards you. Though you couldn't quickly answer due to the fact you just had a wet dream about your friend, in the very lab you're in right now.

"Oh..yeah"

You said when Jayce finally laid his hand on your shoulder, snapping you back into the current reality.

"I was just trying to look into future designs for the hexgates...though I didn't expect to spend the night here."

It has only been a couple of weeks since the first hexgate has started being built, yet you feel it could be better, or maybe could be designed differently for different regions in the future.

" I'm not sure if I like the current design of the hexgate..I feel like I messed something up but I'm not sure what it is.."

You continued to talk about the hexgates, not noticing Viktor had walked over to look at your notes and drawings.

"Other than the eh..slob on the paper everything looks good. I don't believe there's a problem with current designs,but reinforcements won't hurt."

Man. Viktor looked so good leaned up against his cane, looking down at the paper he held in his hand, with the morning sun hitting his skin. You couldn't even respond, zoning out, just to stare at the beauty in front of you, tuning out the communication between Jayce,Him, and you who wouldn't react to the conversation. Your heartbeat fastened and the temperature of your face continued to rise as you stared at the beauty in front of you, slightly jealous.

"Correct?"

Viktor said to you, of course you didn't reply despite the hard stare going on, he sighed and waved in front of your face a few times. At this point he noticed what was going on, seeing how when you snapped back in you cleared your throat and stuttered before speaking.

"What? Oh..yeah"

You answer without even knowing the context. Everyone was staring at you in silence so you realized you maybe have been zoned out for too long, which was embarrassing. "I mean how could one dream mess me up this bad" was a repeated sentence in your mind, before you blurted out.

"Or maybe not."

Jayce's look changed into a slightly worried one. Exchanging that stupid concerned friend look with Viktor.

"Are you alright? You're acting a little strange. Maybe you overworked yourself...do you need to go home for the day.."

Jayce asked you yet again, placing his hand on your shoulder as if that was his way of confirming he wants you to go home yet softening the blow. Viktor also seemed to pick up your papers, organizing your mess so even if you made the excuse of you needing to organize at least before leaving Viktor would already be working on it.

"No..I'm fine, plus there's plenty of work to do, we are still in the early days of testing and designing, there's plenty of things that need to be figured out and talked ab—"

"Go home."

Viktor interpreted your explanation of why you should stay, looking very serious. It looked to them that you had overworked yourself causing you to zone out,oddly sweat, and look out of it. Jayce grabbed your bag before putting it in your arms and forcing you to stand up and walk towards the door.

"Just come back in a couple of hours if you really think you need to be here. Just get some rest...you look horrible."

He said with a smile before closing the door in your face. All you could do is stand there in shock for a little while.

"What a little smart-ass.."

You held onto your bag as you walked down the hall, thinking about what Jayce had just said, you've known Jayce since he moved to Piltover as a kid, and he's always had something smart to say yet always showed his worry for you, especially knowing you struggled with many things in the past. His smart remarks always gave you comfort, especially now giving you time to stray away from the thoughts of work to Viktor overflowing your mind.

————

You tossed your bag by your desk and fell back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Being alone finally gave you time to think about Viktor, it was not a secret you had feelings for Viktor, he was exactly your type. Attractive,Introverted, and Intelligent. "A.I.I" is the code name you and your friends would use for him, they wholeheartedly believe he liked you back but you would always deny or say you both were "too busy to date" because of the recent launch. They would always mention him when they got the chance to see what updates they could get out of you, of course there was nothing ever new except for something small that you went on about that your friends would feed into, except for Caitlyn. She would always just tell you to admit your feelings instead of just giggling over such small things, funny coming from her, someone you knew could never express their feelings even from a young age. Jayce on the other hand..someone you couldn't tell about this, knowing him he would've already told Viktor or threw smart remarks towards you about the topic. Though you didn't tell him you were sure he knew anyways.

Now staring at your ceiling you wonder if you should just listen to her, and maybe that would chase these oddly good dreams away. The idea started to sound good until you started thinking about your work schedules and the workaholic he was. You also didn't want to take his mind off the more important matters at hand.

These thoughts and questions continued until you fell asleep, the sounds of your overthinking turned into silence, your mind finally calming.

[lokideservesahug]

Old Habits Die Hard

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Jenson Button x reader but focuses on Mark Webber x reader

Warnings: Bit of sexism (because that's reality of women in motorsports), pining, I get to revel in dramatic irony but I'm curious as to what conclusions you draw. Speculation about having children but only a dog is confirmed. One swear word, innuendos.

Notes: I wrote this yesterday + today so it's probably very bad. It still isn't the one I started with but I thought that if Jenson doesn't know events then neither should you just for now! But please let me know what you think of this! Also, this is my 1000th post I believe, so 🥳!

Summary: You and Mark are finally reunited when you're hired as a Channel 4 reporter, Toto Wolff begins to cook up a plan to get everyone's favourite Mercedes driver to return in 2025 and Jenson still doesn't know what these bloody page things are.

Series Masterlist

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~Late 2023~

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door in front of you. You shake your head, you're a multiple time Formula 1 world champion, knocking on the door to the Channel 4 CEO shouldn't faze you. You raise your first but at the slightest touch, the door swings open. You cautiously lean forward and stick your head in the door. "Hello?"

At your words, a young, blonde woman, sat behind a desk shoots up. "Hi, Y/N right?" You smile at the woman and nod. "Hi, I'm Rachel." You hold out a hand which she eagerly takes and shakes. "Lovely to meet you, I hope I'm not too early." She shakes her head. "No, you're perfectly on time. Mr Jefferson is ready to see you now I believe." You nod and thank the woman, and head forwards the door to the left of her desk.

The first thing you notice when you open the tall mahogany door is how bright the room is. The tall floor-ceiling windows allowing a lot of light to be cast on the desk and the three chairs sat around it. As you enter the room, the bald man at the far side of the desk meets your eyes and stands up, gesturing to one of the armchairs opposite him. "Hello, Mrs Button. Lovely to meet you." You sit down and shake the man's outstretched hand." Smiling at the pleasantries. He sits down and adjusts his crisp suit jacket, allowing you to take in more of the surroundings. One key thing that you hadn't noticed yet is the fact that someone is occupying the other armchair. Someone very familiar to you.

You look away, desperate to not meet Mark's eyes. You hadn't seen him in a few years and even though you'd been fine after... that night, the relationship hadn't been the same. What was once a relationship you held so highly, became an existence where you kept to minimal contact after he left the grid, that turned to occasional birthday wished to nothing at all. You focus on your breathing, desperate to not get lost in your thoughts about the Aussie. You don't need to think like that, you've moved on and you assume he has; besides, he was the one that let the contact between you drift away despite your best efforts.

You can all but feel his eyes pulling you to pieces and when he talks in an all to friendly tone, you whip your head towards him. "Hello Y/L/N. Lovely to see you again." And as you look Mark Webber in the eyes for what must be the first time in years, you almost forgot how well you could read him (and how good he looked). You curse yourself for picking up the hurt twinge in the end of his words, hoping that it doesn't plague your mind at a later date (you know it will).

Yet still, you smile at the Aussie to your side, after all this time still finding that his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. "Hey Webber. Gosh I haven't seen you in what? Three years?" He nods, voice still holding a view into his feelings "Something like that. But uh- time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? Uh, congratulations by the way... On the family." You roll your eyes and try and ignore his voice crack, clearly showing his emotion. "The media love to go wild with that one. No one's confirmed anything. I could have a million cats for all they know and they'd still claim what they currently are."

Mark smiles at the familiarity of speaking to you so freely once again and tries not to notice that you didn't directly adress the family. He decides not to ponder on it too much, the thought of you having such a domestic life with or without the "perfect family" with someone that want him, making him feel a familiar sickness to the stomach.

"What have you been up to then?" You glance at Stan once again, who is sorting through papers, and decide to oblige Mark in the small talk for a little bit longer. "Oh you know, same old really, a bit of racing and testing here and there, travelling, getting older, nothing too exciting." Mark laughs at your words. "I feel that..." Silence envelopes you once again and you're brought back to the memory of the two of you. A place that probably isn't too far from here, 11 years ago. You interrupt the pregnant pause. "Look, I really don't want things to be awkward between us. I know we were fine on the race track after...... that evening but this is different and I don't want things to be uncomfortable."

He nods. "Yeah I dont want things to be awkward. I mean we are both grown adults, I'm sure we can handle working together." You let out a sigh of relief and go to respond but the clearing of a throat draws your attention. You turn to Stan. "So Y/N, let's get straight to the point, there's no need to mess you around. I called you in here because I want to offer you a position to become one of Channel 4's presenters for the upcoming season." Your eyes widen for a moment before you furrow your brows taking his words in. "We need someone that knows the ins and outs of Formula 1. What makes it tick. Someone that can provide insightful commentary and accurate analysis. And we all think that you'd be perfect for the job."

Well talk about an ego boost...

You let his words sink in for a moment before you point to the man on your right, slightly confused. "What about Mark?" Stan lets out a hearty chuckle and grins. "Actually, if you agree, we plan on pairing you up with Mark. Our social media team say that you've been a historically good pairing and will fair well on camera. And having both a former driver and a former WAG's perspective will really make for thrilling entertainment." His words make you freeze.

It's as if you've been submerged by a giant bucket of ice water. Former- you don't don't want to think of what he said. You feel the old media training (or lack thereof) clawing inside you, begging to escape. It would be so easy to just put him in his place... To tell yet another ignorant, knowledgeless power exactly who you were. You breathe in slowly. No, that'll be no good and he's probably confused. Heck he's the CEO for for of Channel 4, who's to say he's even watched F1 before. You try and play his words off with small chuckle - that comes out a bit too dry for your liking -. "I uh, hope I'm not reduced to that these days. I won six times the amount if championships as my husband, if anything he's the WAG." You see Mark shift in the corner of your eye, covering his grin with his hand.

Stan just waves his hand. "Oh well you know, its just a label. It's a selling point, being a former WAG gives you a certain type of insight if anything." You furrow your brows, this time in rising frustration. Is he being intentionally dense? "But I'm a former driver not WAG." You realise how harsh your words come out and try and real your hostility back a bit. "But you are right about other aspects." Stan though, finally cottons on to your growing frustration and holds his hands out in surrender. "Alright no more of that WAG talk, whatever that means." You nearly laugh at the irony but he continues "We value you for your experience and accomplishments, not just your marital status. But that and the clear drive and passion you have for the spirt is why we want you on out team."

You hum, thinking over his words. Well it would be nice to be back in the paddock, however, Jenson would also be there, is that a good thing, who would look after your dog if you were both gone? You shake your head. "How often would I appear, do you know?" "We'd like you to appear on all of our live broadcasts. However, we understand that you do have other commitments so what we usually do is put people on a trial period of six months. You do it, tell us what you think and you can decide the further steps to take from there based on your feelings but also with audience feedback as well." You nod at his words, them seemingly making sense and seeming to be a fair offer.

Well, returning to the paddock doesn't sound all too bad. You'd pretty much ignored its existence since you left, desperate to not get to attached once again and long for the feeling of going 200 mph once more. Your eyes flicker over to Mark. "How often would he appear?" Stan glances at Mark who up until this point had been quietly observing the conversation. "We'd like Mark to appear with you on all if not the large majority of broadcasts. Your individual, personal touches?" He leans back and beings his hand to his mouth in a chefs kiss, making you and Mark chuckle. "You'd have an extra something our competitors don't and we need that."

You nod at his words, well you've always pleased the Mercedes media team in the past content wise so clearly you have something there. "What about Coulthard?" Stan nods, clearly used to being asked this many questions in matters like this. "David is a valuable presenter but after working with us for so long, he wants to take a step back and have a bit less involvement this year. He's not getting any younger."

He holds his hands up in defence "His words not mine." You nod "Well can I think over things? Jenson has his own job at Sky Sports so as appealing as the offer sounds, I'll have to talk to him about it." Stan nods and stands. "Of course, take your time and think about it over the next few days." He hands you a card. "Once you have your decision, we'll be on the other end of this line." You take the crisp card and run your finger over the edge as you say goodbye to the man and give a small nod to Mark.

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~March 2024~

The familiar smells and sounds invade your sense as you make your way to the Channel 4 group in the media tent. You show your media pass and the security guard who clearly recognises you. He nods "Welcome Miss Y/L/N." Your eyes widen slightly as you smile at the man. "Thank you and it's Mrs Button but you can just call me Y/N." The security guard looks down bashfully for a moment as he expression turns more friendly. "Off course and have a nice day Mrs Button." You wish him well and carry on into the media pen. You mutter a short "Miss Y/L/N? Haven't been called that in years." But find yourself bumping into someone's side. "Oh my gosh I'm terribly sorry." A familiar chuckle makes your cheeks warm as Mark just rolls his eyes and guides you to the briefing area. And for the first time in years, it feels like old times.

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The camera man gives you a two minute warning as Mark turns to you. "I'm curious as to how you fare in front of the camera Y/L-Button." You giggle at his words "Oh shush you." Mark just shrugs "What? Old habits die hard, I called you Y/L/N for years, Button is going to take some getting used to." You grin at his words (and ignore the voice in the back of your mind asking if it would take time for Mark to adjust to calling you Webber instead). "You've known me long enough to not need to call me that Webber." He just leans on a nearby pillar and grins. "Well some things don't change whether you like it or not and deep down, you're still the same Y/L/N after all of this time."

You tilt your head and respond in a playful manner. "I hope so. You still as bad at racing as you once were?" Mark feigns being hurt as he clutches his left breast. "You wound me." A distant call for the start of filming cuts across your moment and you take a deep breath in. You turn and face the camera. "I'm ready." You assume that Mark takes his place beside you because when the camera starts a few moments later, you're both ready to go.

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"Now enough of us talking, let's cut to David Coulthard who's currently walking down the pitlane." You breathe a deep sigh of relief as the light of the camera stops. "You alright there, Button? You look tense" You nod. "Yeah, that was just a bit more stressful than I thought it would be... and I thought you weren't calling me that." "Ah you know I'm just teasing. You were great out there, you looked like a natural." You turn to him and are suddenly hit by the realisation of how close your faces are. "Oh, thank you!" Mark notices the closeness as well but doesn't pull away. Instead opting to lock eyes with you and extend the moment further. "Any time. And if you ever need any advice on how to charm the hearts of the viewers. Don't be afraid to ask the master." Mark's smirk makes you roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? And who might that be?"

And not that your proud of it, but old habits really must die hard, especially when you find yourself glancing down at Mark's lips. Mark leans a forward a fraction more as he responds. "Why me of course!" You just raise an eyebrow but the sudden realisation of where you are and how intimate the moment is crashes into you like a ton of bricks. The thought of people looking and the memory of... that evening making you turn towards the camera, ignoring Mark.

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Now the last thing you expected to do on your first day at the team was interview your old boss but you can't say you're surprised. At least it's nice to see your old team principal. "Toto!" You call his name and he turns to you, eyes widening before he hugs you. "Oh hello you, I didn't know that you were doing this now." He gestures to the microphone in your hand. "Yeah, it's a new addition." He grins as you turn to speak to the camera man, his usual strictness being put to one side for a moment, replaced with a hint of warmth and fondness at seeing his favourite driver again (not that he'd ever admit that of course).

"Well it's lovely to see you and you look lovely as usual." You scrunch your nose at the towering team principal, used to his antics over the years. "Oh shush you, I'm not here to talk about joining Mercedes or anything interesting I'm afraid." Toto chuckles but unbeknownst to you, your throwaway comment has just sparked a genius idea inside of Toto's mind that he'd determined to put into action.

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Jenson stands across the paddock, just finishing one segment of the sky sports coverage for this weekend. Gosh it's already a lot and it's only the first weekend of the season. He lets out a sigh and all too easily accepts the welcoming arms enveloping him from behind. Wait- he sharply turns only to be met with your familiar face. He lets out a small sigh of relief and wraps you in a hug of his own. "Hey sweetheart." You breath in the familiar scent of him and mumble into his shirt.

He pushes you away from his chest slightly, careful to still keep you close. "Say again sweetheart, I didn't get a word of that." You roll your eyes. And pick up his hand, playing with his fingers. "I said that I just interviewed Toto and its a weird feeling. Being back in this environment in a completely different way." Jenson just nods and squeezes your hand, understating exactly how the inner conflict feels. "But I'm sure you were incredible at it, as you always are." And as you clearly appear to be excited excited the matter, it just makes the Brit grin. You meet his eyes and sigh, winding your arms around his neck. You tilt your head "Who turned you into a sap today?" Jenson just chuckles yet remains cool. "Well I can't help but also feel happy when I see you feeling so overjoyed." You chuckle and look down, the proud look in his sparkling eyes making you feel a bit shy.

You connect your lips with Jenson's (and silently thank him for stopping in such a secluded place). However, unbeknownst to the both of you, it wasn't secluded enough to shield you both from the eyes of a certain jealous Aussie.

Jenson responds to the kiss by putting his arms around your waist and you feel yourself get lost in the moment. You moan Jenson's name as you become aware if the fact that you should probably be finding your way back to the Channel 4 group but you ca6n seem to pull yourself away.

And in the same way you feel unable to pull away from Jenson's embrace, Mark feels unable to tear his eyes away from the pair of you. Jealousy and hurt bubbling in his get like a hot storm.

You finally pull away and litter a few kisses around Jenson's face "Right, I have to go but I'll see you later and I love you." Jenson grins and pulls out towards him once again. "I love you too but why the rush? Can't stay and spend a few minutes with your favourite driver." You wriggle out of his hold and leave him with a sweet "Oh I didn't know Nico Rosberg was here. Guess I have to find him now!"

Jenson just chuckles and grabs your arm as you try and walk away. The both of you ignoring the influx of sky sports and other media personnel setting up not far from you. "Not so fast sweetheart. I thought I was your favourite driver. Should I worry about being demoted?" You let out a thoughtful hum, the sound making your lips buzz for a moment. "Well, it depends... There is this one old racing driver. He's long retired now. But gosh, he's he's incredibly dashing and handsome. He commentates now but he just gets me so flustered!"

Jenson's smirk parts as his lips breaks out into a toothy grin. "Oh really? He sounds like quite a bloke! Do I need to be jealous?" You raise your eyebrows and nod "Oh yes, I'd leave my husband for him any day!" Jenson looks down in a deflated act. "Oh darling, how could you break a man's heart?" You can't control it any longer and you feel a laugh bubble out of your chest. You try and speak in between laughs but aren't too successful. "Just- If you see him, let him know that I'd love to give him a massive kiss." Jenson, fakes wiping a tear which makes your laugher turn into breathless cackles. "Such a lucky blo-" Jenson can't manage to get much more out before you're smashing your faces together once again. Desperate to not hear his band attempt at a witty come back.

You pull away and look into his eyes, the blue of them catching the light in Such an angle that it makes them glisten. "Oh look." Your soft words make his expression become more lovestruck. "There he is." Jenson grins before you reel back. "Shit... I need to be broadcasting. Now!"

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and rush away. Jenson finds himself grinning and letting out a small laugh as he watches you trail away. Suddenly, a nearby Sky Sports person laughs loudly and at the sharp sound Jenson turns to look at the man. And he could have sworn he hears the worker mutter your name under just breath. His curiosity and desire to defend you get the best of him and he taps the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, what did you say?" The worker turns, baseball cap on his head casting a shadow over his eyes that is fixed when he looks up to meet Jenson's eyes.

Jenson's tone is firm yet still polite as he continues. "I heard you mentioned someone's name. Who were you talking about?" Now Jenson will be one of the first people to admit that he was good at jumping the gun in his youth. But when someone mentions his wife's name? Well he won't allow anything but praises to be spoken about you and as it stands, the worker might as well be slandering you.

And the ground must be especially interesting because the capped man is finding everywhere to look apart from Jenson's eyes as he mutters a quiet "Mark." Jenson's eyes widen a fraction, not quite what he was expecting but he continues, trying to deem more friendly than confrontational as it stands. "That's a bit random. What about him?"

The worker now picks up on Jenson's interest and lack of ill intent and so continues. He grins slyly and the look makes Jenson feel a bit unwell "Oh I was just making a joke about how I thought your girl was talking about Mark earlier that's all. I thought she had a thing for him" Jenson's eyes widen, that's the last thing he expected the worker to say or for other workers behind the man to hum in agreement with. Jenson tries to keep his expression neutral but he crosses his arms, almost feeling a bit defenceless. "What makes you think she has a thing for him?"

The man opposite Jenson just shrugs nonchalantly. "Well she looked all excited and flirty with him earlier. They were really close and whispering." Jenson feels his heart sink for a moment. He trusts your loyalty of course he does. And he's certainly aware that you're an adult woman with your own autonomy.

Blimey, you were close with Mark first, if anything, Jenson should be happy that you're finally becoming friends again. He ignores a small nagging feeling in the back of his head, knowing full well it's only there because of other people's gossip and falsities. Jenson tries to get an answer pinpointing exactly when only to get another shrug and a generic answer claiming that it's been a regular occurrence over the past few days, in response.

Another man behind the main worker suddenly laughs. Jenson looks at the shorter, clearly younger worker and instead addresses him, head tilting once again in curiosity and confusion. "What?" The younger man just smiled "Nothing! Well I just- I grew up on you lot and for the longest time thought that Y/N and Mark were married so this is just a bit funny."

Jenson just shakes his head, the exchange seeming more and more bizarre as it continues unfolding. Gosh a few minutes ago he was just happily having a quiet moment with you and now he has to put all of these misconceptions about you to rest. Gosh this day is already tiring. "Well Y/N already talks highly of him and when you announced your engagement, like everyone else, I was shocked. I mean at least half of the Internet thought you had a polyamorous thing going on or at least a ménage-trois thing." The first man chimes in again "I mean I don't think Webber would be oppose enough having a piece of th-."

Jenson's glare could kill. Silencing all the other workers that choruses similar sentiments of rumours about Mark objecting at the wedding and other preposterous gossip. He's never known anyone to halt in their words so quickly but at his angry look, the worker realises his wrong and bows his head. Jenson tries to contain his anger at the objectification of you and instead focuses on his breathing (something you've encouraged him to also do in moments of high emotion). Jenson takes a deep inhale through his nose.

"Now if you're done talking about Y/N like that, I hope you can realise how preposterous those lies are. They're just things spouted by people with too much time on their hands and I don't appreciate you feeding into such bad words about my wife like that." As if following choreo, the sky workers nod. The main one holding up his hands, clearly quite ballsy as he adds. "Look I'm sorry man. But you have to admit you'd make a pretty attractive threesome." Jenson just raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore his warming cheeks, not even willing to entertain the thought... Not even for a moment... No, not in the slightest... Well if his brain thinks about it, its just because the worker mentioned it... He shakes his head.

Jenson speaks in a tone that'd be used to scold a child. "And no talk of that please. I'm more than happy with my girl." The man just nods again. Another worker, this time a much taller one puts a hand on the workers shoulder and addresses Jenson. "Sorry man. We'll leave all the stirring to Channel 4." At Jenson's furrowed brow he continues. "Not anything serious, they're just using Mark and Y/N's relationship as a selling point." Jenson just nods his head. Finally feeling more secure in the conversation now. "Yeah, well they love to make stuff up out of nothing."

The group lets out a collective laugh and if you were here, you'd you'd Jenson's look one of a lost puppy. "Oh you poor innocent man." One of the workers laughs "Sorry. You must have never heard of the 'Deleted Pages' that's all." Jenson shakes his head. "The delete- what are you talking about?" Hearing the sincerity of his words, the worker straightens up. "Oh, you really haven't? Uh nothing then..." The camera man calls for the workers to start filming in two minutes and the group begin to scatter. "Wait no, don't give me that. What are you talking about? What are those deleted pages, why are you all acting so weird?" Jenson doesn't have much time to get an answer though before a microphone is being thrust into his hand and he's being forced to film yet another segment.

Now you'd spoken to Jenson before about... that night. Not the ins and outs but now he's left curious. What happened and does it truly mean more than you let on but more importantly, does it have anything to do with these blimmin' "Deleted Pages."? Pages that everyone seems to know of but no one seems to know anything about. Jenson just huffs. Gosh this season really was going to be the end of him, especially if he doesn't find a way to satiate his curiosity.

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Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, comments and especially feedback is always welcome! And I'd love to hear what you think!!!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter III

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 6.5k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we finally get a little glimpse into the life of the vestals in this chapter. i'm trying to write this in a way that requires no prior knowledge of them, but if it sounds interesting to you, i'd highly recommend reading up on them, it's very interesting! also wanted to mention from here on we will dive into how acacius and our vestal get to know each other (until we reach the plot of gladiator II again). enjoy! <3

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) vero - yes paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials bonam noctem - good night

Chapter III

211 AD

You whisper small apologies under your breath as you carefully pierce the needle through Acacius' skin, feeling him tremble under your touch. “Only one more, then I am done. I promise,” you mumble, casting an anxious glance at his face and the cold sweat building on his forehead. “Take a deep breath. Stay with me, vero?”

He nods, his voice rumbling deep in his chest when he speaks up. “I always stay with you.”

“That is not what I meant,” you mumble back and wince as he tenses at the last stitch. You quickly tie the loose ends of the thread together and lift the wet rag to his arm again, wiping down the fresh blood that's trickling from the wound. It’s not too much but you do not need to be a medicus to know that he has lost too much of it today.

Your hands shake as you reach for your gown, ripping a long shred off it. Acacius raises his head at the noise, staring at you. “What is this for?”

“What do you think it is for? That wound cannot stay unprotected.” You reach around his arm, beginning to tightly wrap the linen around it, soon covering the red stains that slowly appear on the first few layers. You have seen him wounded–in fact, you can barely recall a time where he has been completely healthy. But you haven't seen him so weak before. His head keeps drooping, like he will fall asleep in his seated position in mere moments.

With a satisfied nod you tie the bandage into place, nudging the General's shoulder as you make to stand. “Acacius.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at yours, a sliver of something odd in them. It only lasts a moment–then he shakes his head as if to get rid of the ill feeling settling over his body. “You have to go.”

“I cannot leave you alone when you are like this. You need someone to watch over you. You’ve lost blood and the wound–” You are cut off by a strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap like it costs him no effort at all. At least he is limiting his movements to his unwounded arm.

“Acacius–” Before you have a chance to speak properly, his lips crash onto yours. The kiss tastes of blood and wine and desperation. You do not have it in you to put up any resistance, instead letting him take what he so clearly needs in this moment. Your hand creeps up his chest, ghosting over his red tunic and the exposed skin of his neck until you reach his hair. A small sigh travels from your mouth into his quite involuntarily when one of his soft curls wraps around your index finger. The world could crash and burn around you. He would still find time to press his lips onto yours, to hold you tight.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting, his chest rising and falling next to you. His arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist and you reach for his hand, intertwining it with your free one. A squeeze is his immediate response. His eyes fly back and forth between your eyes and you can practically feel his words coming. You’re half tempted to kiss him again, just to keep him from speaking.

“Dulcissima, I need you to listen to me.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There is no time. I need you to take the path at the back of the house. Go back to the Temple. If anything happens–”

“What would happen?” You interrupt, your voice shaking slightly. Your stomach lurches slightly as you think back to what he has told you mere weeks before. His troops, that will be landing in Ostia and marching towards Rome.

“If there are riots–”

“No. I'm not leaving you. Not now,” you choke out, raising your voice slightly. It echoes eerily in the otherwise silent atrium. You know your tears are as imminent as the riots outside the door.

“If there are riots–” Acacius repeats, and you hate how controlled and stern his voice sounds. You aren't one of his soldiers. Yet he speaks to you like one. You’re ready to follow him no matter where he goes. But he is not your General. “–I will personally make sure some of our best soldiers are sent to protect you and the others. We have always protected the Vestals with our lives, you know we have.”

A choked sound leaves your throat because he is already speaking like a man who doesn't plan to return in the morning. Acacius pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around your trembling form. His dried blood leaves stains on the linen of your white dress. No matter how careful he is with his hands, he always leaves you stained. Red, no matter where he goes. He turns flourishing cities into battlefields and their citizens into grievers. Wives into widows, children into orphans.

No more.

“Rome will fall. Won’t it?” You whisper into his chest and you feel him sway slightly as he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath before nudging your head back just enough to press his forehead against yours.

“No. The Emperors will fall. Rome will rise out of their ashes.”

His face tells you that he is speaking the truth. And this is precisely what scares you. “I want to stay with you. You cannot make me leave,” you whimper, squeezing his hand so tight that it must hurt. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before nudging you up with his leg, forcing you to stand again.

“Truthfully, I cannot make you. I can only ask.” A sad smile decorates his lips as he looks up at you, his eyes gone soft. “Besides, it is bad luck to touch someone marked for death, dulcissima. You of all people should know that.”

***

209 AD

You carefully balance the slender pot of water between your hands, the ceramic cold against your fingertips. Tending to the herb garden is one of your preferred duties, allowing you to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin while you work. The temple is never cold, not with the fire of Rome burning in its middle. But the longer your shifts become, the more weary you become of the lack of the sky and sun above.

Tipping the pot over ever so slightly, you let a thin string of water flow down onto the row of small herbs that stick out of the ground. Your head tilts upward towards a blue sky, just enough to peek over the roof of the house that you and the other Vestals live in, located right next to the temple of Vesta–and conveniently at the foot of Palatine Hill.

You can see the General’s–no, you mentally correct yourself, remembering your conversation with him–Lucilla’s house from here, at least the part that is not hidden by trees. You haven't seen him again since taking his will and storing it safely in one of the upper chambers, labeling it carefully and placing it on its assigned shelf, to be retrieved only in one of two cases–on his command or his death. The thought makes you shiver and you mumble a quiet prayer for him to the earth below you.

You see people, mostly women, come to the temple to pray to Vesta. To ask the goddess of the house and hearth for safety, for enough food on their table, for the health of their family. You pray with them, of course. You pray for each and every citizen of Rome. But you remember what one of the older Vestals said to you when you arrived at the house as a mere child, picked for nearly a lifetime of service.

Her eyes had been kind as she had bent down, adjusting the veil that was still much too big on your form.

“She is not just in the flame, my child. She is in the smoke that rises above and the earth that stretches below. Vesta will always hear you. She will always be near.”

You bow your head towards the earth at that, setting the pot aside to instead place your hands between the green and brown, fingertips grazing the earth that feeds you.

It is one of your tasks to pray for all of Rome, often with a special few words for the soldiers, to ask Vesta for their safe and victorious return. But the image in front of your eyes shifts as you speak the prayer that falls off your lips so naturally. It summons the memory of the gentle, brown eyes that promised you their trust.

Keep him safe.

It is a prayer you repeat over and over again, sending it into the earth as well as the air as you kneel under the roman sun, asking for the gods to hear you.

When you raise your head again, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust once more to the brightness of the day, he is there.

You called on the gods. But it is Acacius who has appeared.

You see him taking slow steps through his garden, one hand outstretched as he lets it brush past the fields of lavender. Your own hand, still tucked into the bed below you, moves against the herbs absent-mindedly as your eyes stay fixed on the small figure above the Forum Romanum.

He’s too far away to make out his expression–or even his face. But the broad shoulders, the red paludamentum, the gentleness with which he carries himself–they all let you know it is Acacius you’re looking at. It’s like he has heard your prayers and instead of waiting for one of the gods to answer, he has taken them upon himself.

It happens more frequently after that. The courtyard garden of the Vestals spans almost the entire length of the house, with two small pools lowered into the ground on each side. You pass around it by day and by night and your gaze flies between the columns and upward more frequently than ever.

Just in passing, of course. Just for reassurance. A constant, a joyful moment when you spot his figure. A pinch of something else in your stomach, something you force yourself to ignore, when you see Lucilla's robes billowing in the wind while she walks beside him. He rarely wears his armour, but when he does, it glistens in the sun, reflecting the rays of light, almost blinding.

You often wonder what he is thinking about. If he is pondering the next campaign, possibly even politics, though you have rarely heard about him being involved in them. He strikes you more as a soldier than a politician. A man as loyal to his army as he is to the Emperors.

“Senator Gracchus told me that they are moving some troops south,” Severa announces as you settle down for your evening meal. She is about your age, having been chosen in the same year as you. And she has taken the most interest in politics out of all the current six priestesses, often volunteering to deliver and pick up scrolls from the palace or the senate to hear the news of the day.

“Did he say why?” You ask as you reach for the carafe of wine, motioning towards her glass and, at her nod, pouring her some. You repeat the motion with your own glass before leaning back again.

“No. But I suppose the people further south are not happy.” Her voice drops slightly as she speaks. “They do not wish to risk an uprising, that I am sure of.” You nod carefully, casting a glance to the other side of the room where the two eldest vestals are taking their meal. It is not your duty to meddle in politics. You are the guardians of the hearth of Rome. Day and night, one of you is always in the temple, watching over the flame. Making sure it does not burn low.

If extinguished, it is not just the fall for the Vestals. It predicts the fall of Rome. So now more than ever, you do your duty carefully.

“May I ask you something?” Severa leans towards you, always keeping one careful eye on the others. Making sure neither of you are drawing attention to yourself.

You nod, adjusting your voice to her level as you set down your glass. “Of course. Is something the matter?”

She gives a quick, short shake of her head. “No, not the matter. I was just curious–” You raise a brow at that, though you both know neither of you mean each other harm. “Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a Vestal.”

“Curiousity is a dangerous trait for any woman,” Severa whispers back, lowering her eyes onto the floor. You understand why. It is not easy to speak ill of something. It is simply not in your nature. It goes against the years of teaching you have sat through. “You brought the will of the General, did you not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the mention of Acacius and shift onto your side, hoping that the dim light inside the room hides the way your face flushes. “Yes. The first one I collected, actually.”

“You collect Generals now?”

Neither of you can successfully stifle the giggles that follow her question and you quickly bow your head, just as one of the older Vestals calls out to you. “If you are finished with your meal, please retire to your quarters and get some rest.” You both nod, whispering apologies into their direction as you stand up.

“I am to guard the flame tonight,” Severa adds softly and the other of the two women nods.

“Then you may take your fellow priestess to her quarters and head to the Temple after.” You mumble your good nights to the others, walking along the courtyard in silence. The noise of cicadas fills the night that has settled over the valley. When you stop outside the door to your cubiculum, you pause. “Why did you ask about the General?”

For a moment, you think Severa will not answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly as if to dismiss her prior interest. “I heard some of the Senators speak of him. I merely wondered how he seemed to you.”

“Kind,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He was kind to me.

Her brows furrow slightly but then she nods, giving you a gentle smile. “I better go and not leave the others waiting. Bonam noctem.”

“Bonam noctem,” you repeat quietly. A few moments later, you pull your door closed behind you and begin to undress. When you crawl into the bed placed near the far end of the room, your mind is already distracted and you allow your thoughts to slip out of the small window and rush up the hill. They settle between a field of lavender and wait for a light to appear in one of the windows of the house, just as you extinguish yours.

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[s-wave-entertainment]

Well, you asked-

For the record, I selected "too morally ambiguous to give an answer." I've thought really hard about J in the last couple of weeks (largely because my feelings about her after ep. 8 were so goddamn convoluted that I still don't know how I feel about her) and I've come to a couple of conclusions that ultimately end up in feeling... bad, for her. So hear me out:

J is a resigned antagonist.

She did bad shit, was extremely shitty to N, and definitely stood on the wrong side of history. But your honor, I have reason to believe she didn't necessarily want to.

The episode 8 exchange she had with V gave us some insight into her I think, particularly the lines "It tricked you! If I promised you anything, it tricked me too." And also "You know there's no escape, even in DEATH!" So offbthe bat, I assume two things:

1) J was initially under the belief that maybe they'll be returned to earth (assuming she didn't know that Earth was gone), or that they'll be spared if they did their jobs properly. Through prolonged interaction/possible dialogue, she probably began to realize that no, they weren't getting away with this, and she was being lied to/tricked. This leads to the second piece of knowledge:

2) I hesitate to think that J was just *okay* with helping the Solver, and tried to get away from it herself several times. But not following orders (refusing to kill) only hurt her by overheating, it didn't matter where she went on the planet because it could still find her, and even dying - to worker drone or uh. Otherwise - had her waking up right back under it's control, under its command. Finally acknowledging she had no way to run, no way to get away from it, she dropped her reservations and began to display the loyalty we see in her throughout the series.

Now I also have an additional headcanon here, so take this bit with a grain of salt, but in ep. 2, N claims that J "was getting orders from *someone.*" I'm sure at this point we all agree it was the Solver, but I argue that she didn't always know that. Me personally, I think all 3 disassembly drones suffered amnesia when they landed on C9. This has relevance, I promise, because if J was the head honcho and was receiving orders from someone, there's very few people I think she would just Listen To without having proof that they were somehow higher in command than her. The Solver could prove that by hurting her, yes, but we know that its main tactic isn't physical harm, rather manipulation. And with the knowledge that the Solver can impersonate voices to a t, I argue that so long as J was still under a degree of amnesia, the Solver could have been using Tessa's voice in J's head. This way J obeys without question; but eventually she put the pieces together that something was wrong, and yadda yadda yadda, already said this part. I also have a little analysis on J that I'm not quite sure how to reword (sorry bestie I'm cramming to try to finish assignments before my finals next week) but I do have the conversation where I tried to explain myself to my wonderful boyfriend, which I will place here for your consideration:

In conclusion, J was manipulated like the rest of them until she put the pieces together and realized that something wasn't right - but every time she tried to run, she just woke up right back at square one. Silently resigned, she decided to stand with the Solver in hopes of protecting herself. Maybe she got enjoyment out of it, maybe she didn't. I'm still figuring that part out.

Rb and all that jazz

[shycroissanti]

IRINA GONSHIRA🌌💙

✨️A "little" about her✨️

Answering @yaegxr 's ask💖

AAAA I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HER!!🥹💖

Well, I don't have the complete story yet (because I'm not associating my OCs with Demon Slayer anymore exactly because now I'm focusing on a totally original story - but I can still write a little about this version of it), and also my blog is still a bit messy, but nothing stops me from writing now!!

Starting with the basic information!!

Name: Irina Gonshira

Age: 19 years old

Height: 1.70m

Birthday: August 23

Family:

Yuliya Gonshira - mother

Masato Gonshira - father

Liliya Gonshira - younger sister

Dmitry Gonshira - cousin

History:

Irina has always been a cheerful and determined girl. She comes from a rich and powerful family (Yuliya is one of the best demon hunters, and Masato is a very famous architect/engineer there)

Inspired mainly by her mother, since she was little, Irina had the dream of being like Yuliya, strong and able to protect everyone around her, so she starts training from a very young age, which irritated her father, who did not support her (and this generates conflicts throughout the story).

At a certain point, Irina meets Kishin, an orphan boy who was bullied by almost everyone in the orphanage where he lived, but the worst of all was Kenta, another orphan boy. Irina saves Kishin and soon the two become very attached to each other, creating a very strong friendship. And at the same time, creating a huge rivalry with Kenta.

Later, around the age of 15 to 17, Irina's life would become total chaos.

First, Yuliya had to leave for an extremely important mission, leaving her entire family behind. Since then, Irina has never heard from her mother again.

Soon, she suffered the comet incident (comic) , where a comet hit her in the middle of the forest while she was walking at night. She almost died, but the comet's energy kept her alive and changed everything in her body and mind. Irina feels more energetic and much more outgoing, even becoming much more impulsive and noisy. This energy is great for keeping her strong and ready for anything, but it is also very dangerous, because if she cannot control her feelings properly, Irina feels a strong burning sensation throughout her body, which hurts her a lot (in other words, she has "super powers" that help her and at the same time destroy her).

Another thing that happened is that her beloved friend, Kishin, turned into a demon (he had no other option, he became a demon against his will - comic ). Kishin knew that Irina's dream had always been to be a demon hunter, and now that he was one, he believed that she would hate him and that they could never be together again, so he tried to avoid her all day, because he didn't know what to do, he didn't want to end his beloved Irina's dreams.

While this was happening, at Irina's house, Masato was already tired of everything, having lost his wife (who in truth Masato didn't even care much about Yuliya at that point) and because Irina was a great disappointment to him. So Masato came up with a plan to get rid of Irina. He told her that she should leave and go on a supposed mission far away from there so that she could be part of the Sunlights (in this case, the Sunlights are like the Hashiras, but in the Sunlight Force universe). Irina believed her father without hesitation, so she left home soon after, and finally went looking for Kishin, because she couldn't leave him like that without telling him. Irina was already sad about everything that was happening, so she finally found Kishin, and her world fell apart completely.

Kishin was desperate. He tried to do everything, promise her that he would never do anything like the demons do, and he, heartbroken, said that he could leave and live in isolation if she wanted. At that point, Irina breaks down, her sense of reality was completely altered. She always heard Yuliya's stories about how all demons are evil and must be defeated, but seeing her beloved Kishin like that, she could never do something like that (and even more so because she noticed that Kishin was still the same guy she always loved), so Irina hugs him and promises that they will stay together, that it doesn't matter if he was a demon and she wanted to be a Sunlight, she dreamed of protecting those she loves, and she loves him, so the two stayed together and nothing would separate them.

So since Irina needed to go on the "mission" that Masato had told her and Kishin could no longer live there, the two left the city, and thus the various adventures that I have been writing about have happened.

Now some fun facts!

Irina's favorite food is tamago sando.

Irina is afraid of onions.

She loves collecting rocks.

She likes to cook, but she often burns all the pies she makes.

Sorry, I guess I got excited to write about her xD But still, you can always find more stuff about her with the tag #Irina Gonshira or check out my other blog @shycroissanti-comics , there are all the arts and comics I've ever made :D

Sorry if I wrote a lot of things wrong (〃ﾉωﾉ)

And please consider helping me by reblogging thisﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.💖💖

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 16 "Destroyer of Worlds"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: We're really getting there now 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so excited. And I'm very pleased with this chapter 🤭 I can't wait to hear what you think!

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter (tba) →

Day 100

No guards frame the door that is tall and glinting back, just like Feyd had assured her. When she had approached it and passed through it several weeks prior, she thought it may as well lead to hell, but today she is certain of it. Except it won't be Feyd's hell or hers, it will be his.

And he will have no time for tricks.

With her gun of clear, shiny plastic raised in front of her chest, the relic enters Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's bath chambers.

The scented, herbal fog hasn't grown as dense and thick yet and the white, fleshy heap at the center of the tub fills out her sight at once. And unexpectedly, there is movement to the right, not a guard or a servant but Glugo who quivers in a damp basket near the wall.

While the woman's eyes are briefly averted, the Baron's shield flares up around his misshapen form at a flick against the massive, silver band at his middle finger. The smallest and priciest model on the market, Ixian technology.

"I expected my nephew," he drones, voice amplified by the vaulted ceiling but distorted by the shield.

"Hands on the pool edge," the woman demands, voice as cold as cryogenic vapor. Vladimir acquiesces, unable to reach for the transponder behind his ear. An invisible muscle ticks at his fleshy jaw.

"I hold audiences every Freitak," he attempts to jest, arms spread out in mockery as he adjusts them on the slippery edge. "No need to assault me in my own bath chambers."

A blunder, he realizes quickly as her face hardens with rancor. Not a molecule would fit between her clenched teeth.

"You're troubled because of what you saw," he concludes. "It was a mistake." Vladimir concedes all too quickly. His finesse seems to have evaporated along with the curling steam and he realizes he knows nothing substantial about the woman.

"Quite," she confirms curtly, closing in with slow, deliberate steps. The crosshair projected by her interface, only for her eyes to see, dances over the Baron's face, but she won't take any risks. At the center of the vaulted chamber, a generous distance separates them still, but she feels more confident in her aim.

Pulling a trigger is as easy as dropping a bomb. She should have it in her. Her kin have dropped bombs like rainfall back in the slaughterhouse warfare for oil and soil and rare earths.

The Baron gawks at the muzzle, an unassuming hole among glossy, alien plastic. His old eyes might be deceiving him, but he thinks he can see the inner cogs and channels shimmering through the surface, and a metallic component that doesn't belong.

A lasgun! She's either a maniac or an idiot! Or truly a relic of long-forgotten ages, like the sisterhood had said.

He could either deactivate his shield and die certainly, saving the palace and the capital from nuclear fallout, or he could take them down with him, his nephew included.

"You don't want to fire a lasgun at me, kid."

His voice booms and the Tleilaxu creature leaps out of its basket, hand-feet splatting across the damp tiles. Thank God, it flees out the door, the relic thinks. That tiny moment of inattentiveness is enough for Vladimir to flick the switch at the ring on his pointer, a special gift that was given to him just a few days ago, and just in time. Already, he feels safer.

"That's not a normal lasgun." Her attention is back on the Baron and she smiles knowingly. Vladimir despises the self-assured look of it.

"We can find a civilized solution for this," he declares with renewed confidence. Pretending to think, he sways his fatty neck from side to side. "I know my nephew has plenty to offer, so I don't see why we shouldn't be able to share."

She laughs out brightly, a sound like a whiplash across the Baron's heaving chest. "Where I'm from, there's the death penalty for abusers like you. I couldn't build an electric chair, so I brought something else."

"And what have you got there?" Get her talking, he thinks, beady eyes greedily darting for the door.

"Feyd's wedding gift."

"Feyd's wedding—?"

Thumb slipping over the back of the gun, she cocks the hammer.

"Did I understand that correctly? If you miscalculated, this test will cause an atomic explosion?" The memory of a few days prior fills out her mind, easing the terrible anxiety that now dampens her palms. "Yes, but I did not miscalculate." "Then why test it?" Feyd-Rautha had paced anxiously behind her and sized up the heap of towels stacked in the corner of her room, their outline blue and blurred by a softly humming Holtzman shield. "Better to be safe than sorry." "I'd feel sorry if you blew up my planet." "I wouldn't," she had responded with hardness and pulled the trigger. Doing so fires the bullet first, then a fine tuned laser beam from a smaller second muzzle, as light travels faster than matter and the bullet needs more time to reach its target. The double muzzle is calibrated to take the bullet's weight and distance from the target into consideration. Light may have no inherent mass, but photons do transmit impulse. And so the photons that comprise the laser beam collide with the Holtzman shield's nuclei and propel them into motion towards the body they are meant to protect. The beam's impact isn't hard enough to trigger a nuclear chain reaction, but just right to accelerate the nuclei. And by the time the bullet arrives at the crime scene too, its relative velocity to the shield is that of a slow blade. With a thump, the bullet had sunken into the stack of towels.

The door moves at her back and the only reason why she doesn't jump in fright is because she recognizes his footsteps.

"Wait, my darling."

The Baron could weep with joy at the sight of his dear nephew. Not who he had called, but an even more welcome sight. It was he who had given the boy everything; schooling for his cunning mind, planets to govern, blades to play with, toys to warm his heart and his cock with. Everything in exchange for a measly bit of affection!

Feyd-Rautha, dressed from neck to toe with not an inch of skin showing aside from his face and hands, loops his arms around his betrothed's waist, chin tilted and leaning against her temple.

"Let me do it." 

Vladimir pales, shuffling in the sloshing bath water as his nephew gently takes the gun from the cursed woman's hand and closes in like a starved viper. His chest rises beneath the full coverage of his suit.

Desperately, the Baron looks at the door.

"My dear nephew, you're falling for a hoax! Do you want to blow up the city?"

Feyd-Rautha stops, still several meters away from the tub. Vladimir seethes.

Anxiously, the relic observes the jittering path of the digital crosshair, weapon out of her hands and out of her control. As Feyd halts, the red mark settles on the Baron's pasty forehead. His aim is perfect.

"You want me dead, then come closer, at least! Look me in the eyes when you do it, my boy." The Baron's tongue flicks out, grey-pinkish flesh, to wet his bottom lip. He wants him so close that he can see the whites in his nephew's eyes before the city blows up. Stripped naked and unarmed aside from the poison needle in the signet ring on his pinkie, he feels more than ever like a heap of flesh, defenseless and abandoned and to his own surprise, it is the latter that hurts most.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't speak.

"Say something, boy! You've had more than enough chances to do this, but you didn't, and I'll tell you why." The Baron raises himself slightly, bulging chest emerging from the inky water. "You don't want to kill your own un—"

The echo of a bang ricochets off the vaulted ceiling and the Baron finds his head knocked back, vision filled with fractured red, his shield dissolved.

With his head rolled on the tub's edge, he can only see the ceiling, and something wet slips over his brow, into his blurry eye. Vladimir had always thought, when Feyd finally manages to kill him, he would ravage his body with blades, take him apart to the last organ, gorge on his flesh while it is still warm. It had almost aroused him.

But his nephew's final touch — denied. 

How cruel.

"You did it!" His betrothed's arms loop around his waist from behind, the embrace hard and stormy, her face against his spine. Feyd still stares in awe at the corpse of his uncle, massive, white flesh afloat obscenely in the tub.

"I did," he confirms, his voice hard, with tremors around the edges.

Feyd feels like he should perhaps burst into tears or yell, but none of the like wants to come out of his heart. The accomplishment might take a few days to feel real. What is entirely real, however, is the face of his darling as she slides to his front and cups his cheeks, overjoyed. The tears that his eyes are missing in his, shimmer distinctly in hers and before he knows it, she has tilted his face down to hers and pressed her lips on his, comforting and needy.

Anxiety melts under soft kisses and tears track down her cheeks, coloring their lips with salt.

"I see you've done us all a favor."

Feyd and his woman snap apart, staring in horror to the ajar door. A few steps into the chamber stands a figure swathed in black like a bad omen on the battlefield. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam looks appreciatively at the corpse of Baron Harkonnen.

Even through the mesh of her veil, her sharp eyes perceive the wicked twitch of the na-Baron's hands around the gun.

"Hold still!" She commands and Feyd-Rautha's finger freezes at the trigger.

A pop-up blinks in the corner of the relic's interface, signaling the detection of the soundwave pattern she had picked apart a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing here?" The relic hisses, fingers screwed around Feyd's dangling wrist. She looks a tad haggard compared to when the Reverend Mother had last seen her, with a touch of madness in the eyes.

"My presence was requested by the late Baron and he was right to do so."

"Your presence?" Feyd's voice rings out in distaste, aiming for mockery but rage oozes from every strained muscle. The Reverend Mother sees in him a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

"I wasn't any less surprised than you are, Baron Feyd-Rautha." She tilts her head and with her moves the crass shadow thrown by her oblong headpiece. "That's how I knew the gravity of the situation. Your uncle was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. He had a feeling you were plotting something, so he requested my help, thinking I was the only one who could."

"But you are too late," Feyd barks, fingers clenching helplessly around the gun. "He's dead!"

"He is. And yet, I arrived perfectly on time." The Reverend Mother calmly crosses her hands in front of her body.

"You could have intervened and didn't?" Horror much bigger than when she had the Baron at gunpoint rises to the relic's chest.

"I must confess, I was… curious." Gaius Helen Mohiam waits but the younger woman remains silent. "How did you do it?"

The engineer laughs out, a sound that's shrill and unpleasant from her clamoring heartbeat. "Sure, I'll tell you and give away the single most valuable piece of information in the universe."

The Reverend Mother purses her lips. The truth is, she had made her decision the second the bullet had passed through the Baron's shield. That knowledge must die and not even reach the ears of her own sisters. Temptation brings out the worst in humans and careful plans are traded all too easily for short-lived power.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha knows too, but he is a force they can control. The wildcard however has no place among them.

"This must not come out," the Reverend Mother declares, her tone a whiplash.

The glint in the wayward woman's eyes tells her everything she needs to know. The terrible relic is not horrified by the idea of throwing the world off balance. She embraces the potential of destruction like a tumor the flesh it feasts on. Thousands of years of selective breeding are at risk at the whims of one wicked catalyst.

"I think maybe it should," the relic snarks. 

"You're an abomination!" Mother Mohiam snaps. "You should have stayed in the ice like the fossil you are."

"You shouldn't have thawed me then. This is your doing!"

And this is why the Reverend Mother must undo it. "There is no place for you here," she coldly proclaims.

"Then watch me make one! I'll carve, dig and shoot a mold for myself and if I end up destroying something on the way, I'm not sorry."

"That I can see, and that is precisely why there is no place for you in this world."

Feyd-Rautha stands at his betrothed's side, a shackled guard dog watching the heated exchange between witch and scientist, between the present and the past which might become the future once more.

"It is a pity," the Reverend Mother continues. "But there will be more opportunities to continue this bloodline." She tilts her head, sharp eyes locked onto the relic through the shroud of her veil. "Kill yourself."

Her interface flashes red, a warning at the center of her vision. For a brief moment, all joy fades from her eyes, all hope, and to end her own life seems to be the only logical consequence — until the code sequence she had programmed weeks prior is triggered into action, playing an opposing sound pattern directly into her skull.

Sound waves meet in destructive interference and only a dull, sad ache behind her sternum remains.

Mother Mohiam grows cold with terror when the abomination remains unmoving and smiles.

"You're full of surprises." The Reverend Mother's tone carries a hint of begrudging admiration. Underestimating her is a mistake she won't make again. The woman whose only ability of notable importance seemed to have been prescient dreams had somehow bested her command. But it doesn't matter. There is never only one way to the goal.

Feyd-Rautha realizes that too, but a second too late.

"Kill her."

The na-Baron slackens and turns, soulless eyes holding no recognition. She releases his wrist. Terror devours her when Feyd-Rautha points the gun at her forehead. And just like before, his aim is perfect. A red glow, visible only to her, bleeds into her vision from between her eyes and she remembers.

He aims with the gun that is linked to her brain. The trigger clicks only half a second after she jams it via remote control.

No bullet breaches her skull and the relic stumbles away from her love who stares at the handgun in confusion, pulling the trigger three more times before discarding the weapon with a dissonant clatter. A muscle tics at his jaw, cat like eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his belt. Glinting steel emerges from its sheath, a hissing purr. Her betrothed prowls.

"Feyd, don't—" She pleads, backing away with quickening steps. There is nowhere to go, only the tub where she could hide herself behind the Baron's floating corpse. "It's me, you don't want to kill me. You love me!"

"He doesn't know that," Mother Mohiam coldly reminds her and the relic glares hatefully.

"You're destroying his life!" She sobs, stumbling over the steps that lead up to the bathtub and falling on her bum. "How can you live like this? You're the abomination! He will kill you in revenge, he'll blow up your whole planet!"

Her beloved towers right over her, head crowned by a corona of glowglobe shine, his chiseled features entirely calm, innocent.

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry," she cries. "I love you."

Feyd grabs her by the front of her shirt as she tries to roll away. She squirms and sobs pathetically, helpless with no further tricks up her sleeve, no hidden blade or gun, no voice of her own to wield against him or her.

The Reverend Mother raises her chin in triumph, but all of a sudden, there is movement at the door, at the unsuspecting witch's back.

Mikhail Kyelug comes flying through the door, sword flung out in a wide arch. Right after him sprints Lilia, with Glugo clutching her hand.

The Reverend Mother spins in surprise, lips open, but her words are severed along with her head, terrible voice silenced forever as Mikhail's blade cleaves through her neck and spine with an awful crack. The world spins together with her head. The headpiece comes off, giving away thinning, grey hair. Voicelessly, she curses that her last ever sight is Baron Vladimir's Harkonnen's bloated face, dead eyes locked with dead eyes.

Feyd-Rautha whips around from the racket, blade quivering in his clenched fist. The relic's nails have dug inky crescents into his wrist. For a moment, no one moves and three humans and one humanoid wait with bated breath for Feyd to drop the blade.

But the voice is no link to be severed by the wielder's death, it is a temporary alteration of the brain, and so Feyd's face remains empty, shark eyes glaring at the intruders. Mikhail sees it too.

"Back! Back I say!" He roars and barges like a bull. Feyd-Rautha releases the woman's shirt, facing the threat that is bound to crash into him with hissing metal.

Blades collide.

Lilia jumps over the Reverend Mother's corpse and dashes past the fighting pair to  collect her weeping Lady from the steps. Glugo's hand-feet splatter after her with haste and it picks up the discarded gun, cradling the devious, shiny thing protectively against its misshapen chest.

Glugo had known right away, when it scuttled past the tall, old witch in the hallway and she had commanded it in that terrible voice to leave, that she meant harm. So, it had ran as fast as it could and pulled at Lilia's hands and skirt, because Lilia would know what to do. 

The three of them huddle down in the corner, the relic crying into Lilia's chest. Glugo slips a quivering hand-foot into her palm but its milky eyes are aimed at the center of the room where its friend and Mikhail are grappling and grunting.

By the Sun, the na-Baron fights like a demon! His pupils are shrunken into pinpricks and his mouth is pulled apart into a gashing grin. Mikhail's armor is torn at the shoulder and black blood weeps down his armpit. Every next parry burns as if his muscles were about to tear apart and with the rush of pain comes a rush of clarity.

Fists, not blades. 

Mikhail drops his blood-slick sword and catches the na-Baron's wrist, stopping the tip of the blade centimeters away from his neck. Roaring, he shoves the na-Baron backwards until he collides into the wall and slams the taller man's wrist against the tiles, once, twice. Feyd's blade slips out of his twitching fingers and clatters to the ground as his lips skin back from glinting, black teeth in anger.

Mikhail doesn't hesitate. He drives his thick-knuckled fist into the na-Baron's guts like a battering ram. Wearing no armor, Feyd doubles up, spitting saliva across his own chest. Ringed hands grasp at Mikhail's chest plate, attempting to hurl the guard to the ground, but Mikhail's boot crashes into Feyd's pelvis and scarred knuckles find Feyd's soft cheek. Skin splits open and his molars sink into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Feyd blurts out, choking on spit and blood, hands raised in the air as Mikhail's final blow cracks across his jaw. He lurches to the ground and rolls on his back in defeat, his eyes clear and wide in terror.

"My Lord," Mikhail pants, raising his bloodied fists in a shaky salute.

"I— I didn't—" Feyd's head turns to the corner where both women are huddled up, Glugo in front of them, clutching the handgun in one of its oily-black hands.

"My darling," Feyd rasps, spluttering blood. "I nearly killed you."

"It's not your fault," she sobs immediately and frees herself from Lilia's embrace. The pair meet in the middle and her arms whip around his neck, his around her waist and he squeezes her until he feels her very heartbeat against his own, convincing himself that she's still alive.

Their foreheads fall against each other and she gently cradles his aching jaw, thumb stroking under the bleeding cut on his cheek. Feyd-Rautha's long, lowered lashes cast shadows across his eyes and something dark and bitter flashes in them.

"No," she insists immediately and her tone forces his eyes back on hers. She won't allow him to hate himself for something he almost did. "We're alive and they're dead. This is our victory."

Next to Feyd-Rautha and his Lady, Lilia has rushed over to her husband, making an endearing fuss over the wound on his shoulder and his bruised hands. Deft fingers have unclipped the shoulder piece and tugged the cut fabric apart to inspect length and depth of the laceration.

"S'fine, my darlin'," Mikhail rasps with exhaustion and slings his good arm around her middle, pulling her into him to place mindless kisses atop of her head.

The relic peeks over Feyd's shoulder and unlatches one hand from her beloved, beckoning for the pair to come closer. "Thank you," she sighs with tear-thick voice.

Lilia confidently seizes the offered hand, thumb brushing comfortingly over her Lady's knuckles. Mikhail stands awkwardly behind her, one hand on Lilia's waist, not daring to touch the woman of higher standing so affectionately. "My Lady."

Feyd-Rautha releases his woman after all and turns to face his saviors. At once, the guard and the handmaid drop to one knee before him and lower their heads in devotion.

"Baron Harkonnen," they mumble in unison and a muscle twitches across Feyd-Rautha's cheek.

"No," he interrupts with grating tone. "Stand up!"

The pair obey, glancing up with confusion as they raise themselves. Feyd-Rautha regards them with a long glance and exhales deeply, then slowly kneels in front of them, pale head rolling forwards until his eyes are trained on the ground.

"Thank you," he says. "You saved her life, and mine."

"My Lord," Mikhail mutters, overwhelmed and looks to the Lady for help while squeezing Lilia's waist. "It was only our duty, eh?" He insists but that is hardly true. Not duty but friendship had hastened their steps and fueled his fists when they barged into the room.

Glugo can no longer contain itself and scuttles over on hasty hand-feet, mewling with worry as it flings four of its eight limbs at Feyd's chest, tugging on the thick fabric while pressing its misshapen pug face against his sternum.

Feyd winces when shiny plastic is waved about right next to his face and he tries to capture the gun out of Glugo's innocent, little hand-foot while cradling the creature's head with one big, pale hand.

"It's jammed," his betrothed reassures him. "Come here, give that to me, hm?" Gently, she grasps the weapon and places it back in its holster.

"Hush, hush," Feyd mumbles and allows himself in a moment of vulnerability to rest his bruised cheek atop Glugo's head while his darling softly squeezes his shoulder.

"It is actually Glugo who deserves your gratitude, my Lord," Lilia reveals and Feyd holds the glugging creature a bit tighter. "It came to me crying and begging and I knew you needed us."

Glugo doesn't know exactly why everyone smells so much of tears and joy, but it knows it did something right and that it is surrounded by the kindest beings it has ever known.

"I wouldn't go near," the relic remarks, stopping Feyd whose prowling footsteps have carried him closer to the round tub in which the fleshy, white mountain of his uncle's corpse still floats, unmoving. "He's radioactive."

"I won't," Feyd grates out, plush lips skinned back from his teeth in distaste. He feels none of the morbid fascination he had always assumed he would feel when his uncle is finally dead by his hands, only a grim, long-awaited sense of accomplishment. Turning his head, he finds Glugo tugging curiously on the dead Reverend Mother's dress. The poor thing does have a penchant for liver after all. Feyd clicks his tongue. "Don't touch that!" 

Glugo scuttles away and back to Lilia's outstretched hand. It will receive a proper victor's feast later, something more worthy of its bravery than an old witch's, rotting corpse.

"I want the bodies completely eradicated, both of them," Feyd demands. Lest they return as Gholas, a voice of paranoia whispers to him, but he is all too happy to listen.

"How?" His woman curls her arm around his middle and Feyd pulls her to his chest, inhaling the scent of her hair before he makes a decision.

"Burn it down," he rasps. "Burn down the whole wing."

In the afternoon hours, the citizens, guards and slaves of Barony are left gawking and gasping, faces turned in shock towards the colossal palace pyramid where vicious smoke curls from the very top, black claws against the crass, white sky. At the na-Baron's behest, no one is to extinguish the wrathful flames. 

Proudly, he watches it burn, the place that holds two decades worth of abuse. The biting smoke soars towards the stars, like the herald of a new age.

I am Time (Death), cause of destruction of the worlds, matured And set out to gather in the worlds here. Even without thee (thy action), all shall cease to exist, The warriors that are drawn up in the opposing ranks.

- Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita

A/N: Killed the baddies with the power of friendship and science 🥹 (2 more chapter to come)

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[sockatoothewafflebird]

u prolly have already but pls i want in depth yap abt caitvi in arc3 and how they heal :)

oh anon i have NOT yapped about how they heal. not in detail at least. so here we go. there's not a lot that hasn't been said about them, but i'd like to put my perspective into the ring just because. as an eldest sister and as a lesbian i can relate to vi in a lot of ways.

i think my main takeaway for caitvi in act 3 is how they're both human, in the ways they love and in the ways they fight. arcane is a show that respects its audience and trusts us to be able to read between the lines and i appreciate how you can see every little detail of the words they're not saying if you look close enough.

in The Scene especially you can see just how real theyre being... im not gonna dwell on it, but by the skin of my teeth and the bones in my knees they LOVE each other. you can see it so clearly.

caitlyn walks in on vi questioning everything she is. violet legit just let her sister slip from her fingers, again. i cannot tell you how many times i've felt guilty when my sister or brother are hurt or do something wrong, even if i had no part in it. i cannot imagine how much it would hurt to lose them and keep going only because of the possibility of finding them again, and then when i finally do find then they're ripped from my arms. and it happens more than once. i would be in the same place vi is. blaming herself for all of it. making the burden of protecting her sister all hers and no one else's. wondering whether or not she's doing the right thing at all. (cough coughh petra minecraft is that you)

as stressful as they can be sometimes they're my siblings and i'd do anytning for them. and with the kind of person vi is, for her that means punching whoever's in the way. doing whatever she can. she has a big heart and she's never lost it.

after caitlyn basically dumped her in the most entitled way possible vi had nothing left. no one to protect and nothing to fight for. so she fought just for the sake of fighting. after getting her family back and losing them again (holy ballsockets she was put through the wringer) all she had was cait even if cait hurt her. i think even if cait never did anytbing to make it up to her, she would have stayed, because vi needs an anchor.

caitlyn's hurt a lot of people directly or indirectly. she grew up priveleged and stayed that way, never truly seeing exactly how much pain people are going through until it's too late to turn back. caitlyn's arc is a very interesting one because she never says the words "i'm sorry". she never tells vi that what she did was wrong and that she wants to fix it. but she does things that prove her remorse.

caitlyn works with vi in the end of act 2. i think this is partially because she was already skeptical of ambessa from the start, and partially because she wanted to find a way to make it up to her. caitlyn doesn't fold as soon as vi calls her cupcake, that's not what the look is. The Look is her thinking, "wait, does she not hate me? why did she call me her term of endearment even after everything i've done?"

in act 3, caitlyn takes all the guards out of the prison, because she knew vi would try to rescue her sister. in the words of another post i forgot to save (deepest apologies to the op of that one), vi could have taken jinx and ran. caitlyn might have never seen her again and she let that happen anyway. and cait even went to the cell to check to see if her theory was true, and lo and behold it was. and vi failed at trying to save her sister. again.

what does caitlyn do? she tells vi that she relieved the prison of the guards because of her. all confident and sultry and commanding like she knows what she's doing.

and then when they're getting into it caitlyn frantically pulls away. she realizes that, yeah, she still needs to make things right. she tries to be honest, tell vi that she saw someone else, and vi just reassures her and keeps going. i think thisnis because 1) vi wants the cupcake, who wouldn't, and 2) she's... not exactly forgiving, that needs more work- but she's showing her appreciation for caitlyn here. caitlyn did something huge for her, she let her break a prisoner out which could have dire consequences for both of them.

i think vi just absolutely smothering cait is also a way to show that even though cait hurt her physically as well as emotionally, she's gone past that. if vi hadn't at least given some thought about cait's actions she would not let this happen, i don't think, unless she's super desperate. this proves that vi is starting to move on and cait is starting to revert back to that sputtering stuttering pinned-to-a-wall-flustered woman she was in season one- that's the woman vi fell in love with, after all... and that woman is battered and bruised and has plenty of sins to stone for. but that woman is not dead.

The Scene in the cell is both them being desperate and them showing their love for each other without words. caitlyn's hand lingers on vi's injury, maybe about to utter an apology, but vi cuts her off anyway. there's SO many little things here gaughehgjf.

and in the end of the show, when caitlyn looks into the hexgates in her family's archives, she looks because vi probably asked her to. vi wanted to be sure. she looked because she cares about vi. whether or not she'll tell vi about this is an interesting thought- i don't think she would. it would undermine jinx's sacrifice.

jinx walked away so she could move on. so piltover could move on. so zaun could move on. so vi could move on. and caitlyn telling vi that she's alive would ruin the steps they've taken towards healing.

i think vi's main problem was dedicating her life to her sister and nothing else. and caitlyn's was just her exploiting a broken system and mever recognizing her faults. vi starts to heal because now that her sister is truly gone to her, she can move away from the past and build her own future. and now that caitlyn's fully realized her mistakes she can take steps towards changing piltover for the better. GAHH i love complicated sapphics especially when there's sapphic joy after all the suffering....

this was all written in one sitting so apologies if it's messy, and i've sort of compiled some other ideas and theories i've seen in here too; but yeah, these are my thoughts on caitvi in season 2. i think they could've been fleshed out a bit more, but overall their relationship is legendary. i'll never stop loving them. caitvi supremacy people 💪